Blessed are the Voices - Logan Family No. 6
by Usagi's Oven
Summary: A voice is all she can remember ... Belinda Ericson dreams unsettling dreams that hold secrets that she never knew. Yet when the chance comes to figure them out she is faced with the question whether it is a slice of heaven or another entance to hell.
1. Prologue

Prologue E. Halloran Normal E. Halloran 1 2 2001-11-03T22:16:00Z 2001-11-03T22:18:00Z 1 SE Halloran Designs 1 1 9.2720 0 0 

**Prologue**

Alice stood above the graves of Melody and Cary Logan, silently crying. She was holding their child, Lydia Rose in her own arms. She was beautiful with her father's dark brown hair and facial features, and her mother's astonishing grey-blue eyes. She looked again at the pitiful graves, they seemed copied from Melody's parents, Alice bit her lip.

She sighed and looked at Belinda Rose. "Don't worry sweetie, I'll spare you the thought that your parents had died, from now on … I'm your mother," the baby seemed perceptive of the words.

Alice sighed and let the sermon continue.


	2. Only the Reflections on the Glass

Chapter One ~ Only the Reflections on the Glass E. Halloran Normal E. Halloran 1 114 2001-11-03T18:46:00Z 2001-11-03T20:40:00Z 1 SE Halloran Designs 1 1 9.2720 0 0 Chapter One – Only the Reflections on the Glass 

It was warm, but cold in places, I curled my toes, it was cold there. Memories seeped in slowly and I patiently waited for them. They had started last year, I was sitting at the creek, with my friends and the flowing sound of the water awakened memories I didn't know I had, memories I know I shouldn't of had, for I sensed I was nothing but a baby in any of them, and no one remembered things from that early of childhood … did they?

And it was funny but it almost made sense of the whispers behind my back, though the words were always muffled just before they reached my ears. Sometimes I didn't know what they said, or which voices said it even, but sometimes they just didn't make any sense, I didn't really mind, it was interesting. Maybe I was clairvoyant, and these were not memories, but visions of the future. I snapped out of it, I was sitting in a dilapidated plaid easy chair, listening to the soft staccato of the snow falling on the roof … tap, tap, tap, it reminds me of something … something I cannot quite remember. The little memories annoy me, for I cannot figure them out, blue eyes like my own, light brown hair, laughter, a name. Belinda. Where did that come from, why do I hear my name in a voice other than my mothers? I look at the clock its midnight now; I can't see through the window anymore, it's too black, the light in the corridor is reflecting upon it, making it difficult to see anything but a reflection. 

I sit out here every single night and try to remember something, someone. An aunt, a grandmother? A sister perhaps, a babysitter. And the man, the man with the dark hair, like mine, with glimmering green eyes, or was it blue eyes? Maybe I was remembering a brother and sister, or a husband and wife. Yes, that's it, husband and wife. How though, I couldn't have been more than an infant when I last saw them.

A wispy sound came, a flutter of the ivory draperies in the den. I got up from the chair and stood in the entryway of the den, the wind from outside had made the room cold with winter air, it bit at my warm skin. I picked up some papers that had fluttered off the pine desk, and settled them back on with a rock paperweight. A bluish light from outside played on my hands; I opened the curtain and peeked out the open window. It was a wonder it wasn't colder, snow was still thick from yesterday, and the sky was cloudy and starless, it only revealed part of the full moon, then none as a cloud shifted and covered it. I shut the window, the edges of the papers stopped fluttering. I closed the curtains.

I turned and caught my breath; my brother David stood there, his arms folded. He was handsome, no lie, but he kind of gave me an ashamed dirty feeling sometimes. He was too handsome. He had blonde hair and brown eyes that glittered with flecks of green and gold, his arms were strong as were his legs, he was tall and looked powerful, like my father, he had a broad roman nose, and a light un-freckled complexion.

"What's the matter Lindy? Fell asleep in that chair again?" David had always called me Lindy; he knew I hated the name Belinda.

"No, I was thinking. Remember what I told you about that man and woman that I remember? The pretty woman with blue eyes and light-brown hair, the tall man with dark hair … I saw them again. I heard her say my name, I think."

"You must be remembering something else, or imagining it. There's no way you could remember something from when you were that young."

"I tell you, David, it's from when I was a baby, maybe Mom had a sister that she never told us about or some—"

"Lindy, you watch too many soap operas with Mom."

I sighed; I didn't watch very much television at all in reality. David just didn't believe me. He read my eyes, and replied. "No, I believe you, you just make too big of a deal of it."

"I will never know until I ask our Mother."

I looked up at the ceiling, and got distracted by the texture on it, it was kind of shaped like clouds on a sky. David looked up too then looked at me. "You going up to bed?"

"No."

"Suit yourself." he walked up the stairs to his bedroom. Looking back one time with worry in his eyes.

I sat back in the chair, the room smelled strongly of vanilla. For some reason David always smelled of vanilla. He didn't even need cologne; I never smell of anything … well I guess I must, everyone smells like something. I merely smell like everything else I suppose.

          I heard that snow again, it had stopped for a second, or I had stopped listening to it. I turned out the light so I could see out the window, that sound. The ocean. But I had never been to the ocean … how could I remember it? I closed my eyes. Big blue Ocean, my breath caught, a sailboat. I opened my eyes. It had to be real … how else could I remember this? How else would it constantly riddle my mind? An oozing sickness rolled through my stomach. My eyes drooped. I realized I was tired. I walked up the stairwell to my room, to fall asleep. Once in my room I looked in the mirror, tears were on my cheeks … I felt them to make sure they were there. I hadn't realized I was crying. I looked closer at the mirror, and thought I saw a reflection of somebody behind me. I turned it was no one. Only the reflections on the mirror. 

I went back to getting ready for bed, I put on silky pajamas and crawled into bed, a small terror crept up my back, the oozing sick feeling came back. What if I was adopted, and these people were my real parents? I had to find out … but then again these small memories could be deceiving like the reflection on the glass, with that I fell into a dreamless sleep wanting never to be awakened.


	3. Snow Storm

Chapter Two - Snow Storm Normal E. Halloran 2 22 2001-11-05T01:13:00Z 2001-11-05T01:13:00Z 1 SE Halloran Designs 1 1 9.2720 0 0 Chapter Two - Snow Storm 

          As the years passed the memories got no more vivid. But still a slithering snake of suspicion still remained. Who were these people? Why did I remember them? I was afraid these questions would drive me insane, yet fear told me not to delve deeper into the subject. David made it ever more difficult, his insistence that I was making something out of nothing and that these so called 'memories' were but things that only happened recently or in a movie I had forgotten were infuriating sometimes, and I often was awoken at night with fear that what David was saying was true ... or worse that my own theory was true.

          My mother wasn't particularly beautiful, like the woman in my vision, instead she had sort of an average dowdy look to her, she was at least ten pounds overweight with a heavily freckled complexion and dishwater blonde hair, really her only attractive quality was her eyes, which, like David's were a beautiful warm brown with green and gold flecks. Mom as we called her wasn't a predominantly kind and loving 'mommy dearest' sort of woman either; she had a scientific view on everything, which made sense since she was a science teacher at the junior high school here in our shoddy little West Virginian town. I often realized that I looked nothing like her, and if my father had not have had eyes in a similar shade of blue I would have been convinced that I was merely an adopted child. Now I'm not imposing that my parents are unkind, no they were exactly the opposite, there was never anything I needed or wanted that I didn't have, and that includes love. I was the favorite of my mother I suppose, she always looked at me in a warm reflective sort of way that gave me the feeling I reminded her of someone else she once knew. Someone she once loved. Maybe she had had me with a secret lover that died in a shipwreck or something.

          "Hello Belinda," my mother smiled at me. I sat up; I had been daydreaming for quite a while.

          "Hello mom." From the window seat I was sitting at I could see that it was snowing like I had never seen it snow before. The whole world seemed shrouded in various shades of white, grey, and blue. A wave of comfort settled over me since I was sitting inside with my flowered down comforter over me instead of out in the snowstorm.

          "You look thoughtful. Remember, it's only Saturday, no time for that until Monday," she waved her finger at me playfully and sat down beside me. I sighed, this was mom's sense of humor, sometimes it made me smile, only because she was so serious usually, however now it had no affect. I looked at a dark piece of hair that had fallen out of my head, then looked at my mother's dark blonde hair, I considered asking the question, but stopped myself when a mental picture of mom laughing and promising that I didn't fall out of the sky. If she did that, that would prove David right once again. So I just smiled at her.

          "Nothing much, the snow. How beautiful it is."

          "Oh, I was just coming to tell you that someone just called for you." she paused "I offered to get you, but she said not to."

          "Oh, who was it?"

          "Jeanine Phillip." It was as if some of the snow from outside had somehow reached my stomach, as if the storm was furiously raging in the pit of my stomach. But why? Why would I get a chilling feeling about a girl I had known for years? Maybe …

          "Belinda, are you okay?"

          "What? Oh … Oh yes, I'm alright." I answered

          David walked in I looked at David. "Hi David."

          "Hi Lindy." David looked at me hard, it made my heart pound, I felt my cheeks grow red as that ashamed feeling came back; a sister wasn't supposed to feel this way in front of her brother, was she? David looked at mom. "Were you in the middle of something Mom?"

          "No, not at all, what did you want David?" mother asked.

          "Some help with my chemistry …"

          Mom looked at me, "Okay, David." She left the room, and shut the door behind her. I let out a long drawn-out sigh and looked back out the window toward the snowstorm, I put my head against the cold glass, and wondered if one day I would go to hell for having these feelings for David.

~*~*~*

A/N Look for Chapter 3 – Dark As Night


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